


Drunken Mishap

by EllanaSan



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Drunk Effie, F/M, Headcanon, Poor Haymitch has to take care of her, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-12 12:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t you think you had enough?” The irony wasn’t lost on him, she usually was the one asking that very question.</p>
<p>Original prompt: "Effie gets a wee bit tipsy with Haymitch and she ends up getting a bit cheeky or naughty, the next morning Haymitch can't contain himself and keeps reminding her what she was like"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here an answer to a prompt that was sent to me on tumblr. I am still taking prompts if everyone is interested ( http://ellanainthetardis.tumblr.com/ ). I hope the English is okay I'm still terribly self-conscious about it. I think I have problems with tenses at any rate... 
> 
> Thanks to Akachankami for the beta-reading!

** Drunken Mishap  **

By the time Haymitch arrived at the victory party, it was late and most people were either sprawled out on various couches or doing what passed for dancing in this part of the country. The place was still packed: Capitol decadence at its best. For once, it suited Haymitch: free alcohol at will and the satisfaction of knowing that, just this once, District 12 won. He would worry about the repercussions of Katniss’ little stunt with the berries later, for now, he was content to know the girl and Peeta were safe and sound in the best medical facility the Capitol had to offer.

He darted towards the liquor table, avoiding all the hypocrites who wanted to congratulate him.  He spotted Chaff and Finnick by the far end door, laughing with a bunch of tipsy Capitol women – or laughing _at_ tipsy Capitol women. It was hard to tell the difference sometimes.

“Haymitch!”

He froze at the sound of her high-pitched voice, his glass of whiskey already half-way to his lips. “It’s the first…” Or rather the fifth, but she didn’t need to know that. “…I had all day, back off, Princess.”  He turned around and blinked at her unusual attire. She was always one for silly clothes but today, she was at the top of her game. There was so many taunts to choose from he didn’t even know what to say : her leopard dress, her disproportionate tawny wig and her impossible see-through high-heels… “If that’s your way of paying a tribute to Katniss’ wild side, you should know she would shoot you on sight in that dress. Mistake you for a duck or something. ”

She stared at him for a few seconds and then waved his argument away. “Pour me a drink.”

“A drink” he repeated, a little skeptically. “Since when do _you_ drink?” He had never seen her drink anything stronger than orange juice in all the years they had known each other.

“Since always.” She snatched his still untouched whiskey from him and knocked it back in one long swallow before giving him the empty glass back. “I just don’t do it when you’re here because one of us should be sober. I want another one.”

Looking at her more closely, he could see the effects of the alcohol : her eyes were a little unfocused and she seemed more unbalanced than usual on her heels. “Don’t you think you had enough?” The irony wasn’t lost on him, she usually was the one asking that very question. Given how irking it had always been for him, he probably should have let her drink her fill and watch her make a show of herself, but, for some strange reason he didn’t care to delve too much into, she was his friend and he supposed that meant looking out for her.

“No, I don’t.” she replied, very seriously even though the question was a rhetorical one. “ _We_ _won_!” She hugged him suddenly, just as she did earlier, when they announced Peeta and Katniss as the 74 th Hunger Games victors. She let go before he could do so much as try to stabilize her and went for one of the bottles on the table behind him. Her heels, however, didn’t seem to cooperate with her and she tripped, clumsily stumbling against him. He instinctively caught her around the waist to make sure she wouldn’t fall. “Oh, sorry…” She giggled with too much mirth, before patting his chest, her other hand clutching his belt to help her stand upright.

_Definitely_ too much to drink.

“Careful, I have a knife in there.” And he didn’t fancy the idea of dropping it for everyone to see, in a party attended by the highest Capitol citizens, right after what Katniss did with her berries. It wouldn’t take much more to get him accused of assassination attempts.

“I bet.”

He had to do a double-take on that one because, _really_?  But her grin was entirely too innocent and the soft pats on his chest were quickly becoming obvious fondling.

“Look, I don’t know how much you had to drink, sweet…” The moniker died on his lips because he couldn’t call her _sweetheart_ when she looked like that. _Princess_ wouldn’t do either because she didn’t look like her usual parrot self. There was something feral in her eyes that was only enhanced by her dress. She was looking at him like a wild beast about to pounce. He knew that look. He had never actually seen it on _her_ face before but he had been with enough women to recognize it. There was no mistaking the way she pressed against him, either. “Effie.”

“Yes?” she asked, all innocent, while sneaking closer to him – which was a feat in itself because there wasn’t much space to begin with. 

“Trinket, you’re wasted.” He went for stern. Had it been anyone else, he probably would have taken a shot at her. But it was Effie and he wasn’t about to seduce her – or let himself be seduced, in that case – when she was too drunk to know what she was doing.

“Is that bad?” She snuggled against him, nibbling softly on his jaw. “You do it all the time…”

He noticed some people pointing at them, and the cameras were still recording… “And if this is your idea of punishment, it’s effective.” He was tempted to let her make a spectacle of herself, just for the fun of it, but there was a huge difference between teasing and public humiliation and he doubted she would like to see her inebriated self on television. “Bedtime for you, I think.”

He was annoyed at the hand that kept roaming on his chest because it was beginning to distract him from his righteous decisions – he _hated_ righteous decisions in general. He was also annoyed at the distinct lack of alcohol in his system.

“Bed.” she hummed softly. “Beds are good. They’re all soft and warm.”

“You’re such a poet.” He slowly guided her towards the exit, which was harder than it seemed, given that she was still clinging to him.

“You can do all sort of things in bed…” she mused, as they were waiting for the elevator. She leaned her head on his shoulder like it was an everyday occurrence.

“Sleep.” He caught her hand before it wandered a little too low for his comfort – or sanity. “That’s all you’re gonna do in bed tonight. _Sleep_.”

Her pout shouldn’t have affected him as much as it did, but the pout and the hands she insisted on putting all over his body were quickly becoming too much for him to handle. He was relieved when the elevator finally arrived, four floor to go and he wouldn’t have to worry about doing something he would regret anymore. She would _never_ forgive him if he acted on her drunken advances. He wouldn’t forgive himself either, came to think of that.

The elevator had just chimed when he felt it. “Sweetheart, are you groping my ass?” Her giggle were enough of an answer. “You would rip my hand off if I did that to you.” He steered her in the direction of her bedroom, wondering why she had to be so bloody difficult.

“You did.” she whispered, in a conniving voice. “Several times. You do that _all_ _the_ _time_ when you’re drunk. I don’t mind. I like it. But you mustn’t tell anyone because it isn’t proper. You put all kind of improper thoughts into my head, that’s not very nice of you.”

“Are you _set_ on killing me?” he inquired, in all sincerity. If her aim had been to arouse him, she had succeeded and it was quickly becoming more painful than enjoyable. “Sit.”

She collapsed more than she sat on her bed but he wasn’t about to be picky. He crouched in front of her and fumbled with her heels, wondering why shoes had to be so damn complicated to remove.

“I really like you, Haymitch.” she said, completely out of the blue, when he finally succeeded in taking off her right shoe. “You’re a good man. Rude and uneducated, but good.”

She slurred on the word ‘uneducated’ and it made him smile because she wasn’t one to falter in her speech. “You’re an uptight bitch half the time and you’re the most annoying woman I’ve ever met.” He attacked the other shoe but she kicked him softly with her bare foot.

“See?” She sounded triumphant. “ _Rude_. I paid you a compliment you should reciprocate.”

She really shouldn’t try those big words when she was wasted, they ended up all smirched together and not at all understandable. But he’d knew her long enough to know what she wanted to say. He considered himself to be Effie-fluent.

“Well…” he said, taking of the second shoe. “You _are_. But, I’m still here. It should tell you all you need to know.”

“You like me?” She was insistent and he was tired. He sighed and got up, ignoring the cracking of his knees, to pull back the comforter.  

“Get into bed, Princess. It’s all _soft_ _and_ _warm_.” He would tease her merciless about that in the morning, he promised himself.

She complied, yawning so widely he was a little afraid her jaw would block. “But, do you?” she asked again when he threw the covers on her. “Like me?”

He kissed her forehead because he could and because he kind of wanted to climb into bed with her so an innocent kiss on her head seemed a good compromise. “More than I should, probably.”

She was out cold before he even reached the door.

°¤°¤°¤°

Effie woke up with the mother of all headaches. She must have forgotten to set her alarm because it was much later than she usually got up and the list of everything left to plan was quickly becoming a subject of stress. She was quite in a frenzy when she entered the dining-room, breakfast was still on the table, Haymitch was nursing a cup of coffee – which was surprising because he was rarely up before noon when the Games weren’t on – and she was too busy wondering what to wear at the crowning ceremony to notice his smirk.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

“No need to shout.” She let out a painful hiss. “Really, Haymitch.”

She swallowed her entire glass of orange juice in one go, her throat felt parched. Headache, thirst… She recognized the symptoms : she had too much to drink the night before. The party had been a total success. Everyone had wanted to congratulate her, speak to her, dance with her… It had all been perfect. Everything she had hope for when she had first become an escort. But she had indulged a little too much in alcohol, she knew. Her memories of the last part of the evening were blurred.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked with unusual thoughtfulness.

“Yes, thank you.” She wasn’t really hungry so she read again the list in her notepad. Everything would be perfect for Katniss’ and Peeta’s crowning if she had anything to say about it. The first thing to do was to call Cinna and Portia. 

“Sure? Was the bed soft and warm?”

“What sort of idiotic question is that?” she frowned, noticing for the first time that morning that he looked too smug for his own good. Or her own, really.

“You tell me.” There was a twinkle in his eyes she didn’t like one bit. “Or you could tell me what it is you do in bed beside sleeping, I’m curious…”

Her first reaction was to be outraged by his appalling behavior but then the words clicked and she remembered. Oh, boy, _did she remember_...

“What sort of improper thoughts come into your head at night, Princess?” he teased her. “You seemed particularly interested in my _knife_ , last night…”

“Stop!” she shrieked, hiding her face in her hands in utter mortification. “I was drunk, it doesn’t count!”

He only laughed at that. A loud cheerful laugh she had never heard before. He wasn’t often genuinely amused.

“I never make fun of what you say when you’re drunk!” she snapped. She could feel the heat radiating from her cheeks and she knew she was crimson.

Still, he kept on laughing, hooking his foot around the leg of her chair and dragging her closer. He half-rose, then, a hand on the table, the other on the back of the chair, for balance, and leaned close to her ear. When he spoke, she could feel his breath roll against her neck and she couldn’t suppress a shiver – which, for the record, was nearly as embarrassing as his teasing. “You should ask me when you’re sober, sweetheart.” She drawn in a breath but by the time she recovered enough to speak, he was gone. 

 

 

 

  

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally a one shoot but I was asked for a sequel, so... Here it is. ^^

The train back to District 12 was swiftly rolling off in the night, leaving the Capitol far behind. Except, Haymitch mused, moving his glass so the liquor would twirl, the Capitol was everywhere and you could never totally escape it. His wine was lightly glowing under the dimmed night lights, it looked like blood.

“Tell me you’re not passed out.” Effie’s voice called out from the door. “I’m not in the mood to carry you to bed.”

“Why aren’t you in _your_ bed already? It’s so _soft and warm_ …” he teased, watching her walk to the couch he was slumped on.

She sat beside him, careful not to spill the smoking mug she was holding. “Will you ever let that go? It was _one time_. If I had to throw back to your face every embarrassing thing you say when you’re drunk, we would stilll be here next year.” She blew on her cup before taking a cautious sip. 

“What’s that, then?” he asked, nodding to her drink. “Will _I_ have to carry you to bed, tonight?”

He had hoped for a blush but she only rolled her eyes. “Herbal tea.”

He shook his head, fighting a smile. She had _purposely_ avoided replying to any of his flirting attempts since the victory party. Not that there had been much time for that anyway between the crowning and the interviews…  He had only been alone with Effie a few minutes at best those last few days and all those moments were tensed and dedicated to make sure everything would go smoothly. Haymitch was exhausted and, no doubt, she was too.

“What’s wrong, Haymitch?” she asked softly, getting rid of her shoes and curling up on the couch, her calves pressed against his thighs. “Everything went well. They were perfect. Why do you look so worried?”

His head fell on the back of the couch as he contemplated what he could and couldn’t tell her. “The  berries.” It was vague enough that nobody could accuse him of anything if they were listened to.

He didn’t actually need to say more. He saw the comprehension dawning on Effie’s face. “It was a rash decision Katniss took, but she’s in love. They both are. It’s forgivable.”

He tried to convey, with his eyes alone, that he wasn’t sure Katniss could play the part forever, that, at some point, probably sooner rather than later, she would break. And he didn’t even want to think about how the boy would react once he understood it was all a scam. If Effie got any of that, she didn’t let on, she kept on sipping her tea.

“I encouraged her to… fall in love with him.” he said, at last.

“You brought her home.” She finished her drink and put the mug on the ground, next to the couch, before hugging her knees. “You brought both of them home. It’s a miracle, Haymitch.”

A miracle they would pay for, he was sure of it. He closed his eyes and sighed, wondering why everything had to be so damn much complicated. He hadn’t planned Katniss’ stunt with the berries, he had just thought sponsors would be more inclined to root for the girl on fire if she looked a little more human, if she gave them a good show… He had known from the beginning it would either be her or Peeta and he had bet on Katniss. He could hardly look the boy in the eye now, knowing he had chosen her over him.

She placed her hand on his arm and squeezed softly. “You were amazing.”

The weak lights made her feature sharper somehow because of the white powder on her face, stained over her eyelids and on her lips by splotches of blue paint that matched her wig. She looked ridiculous and, yet, he found her beautiful. He’d never fully understand why. To him, she was a constant paradox. 

“I don’t think anyone ever called me that before.” It wasn’t actually true. Lots of Capitol citizens had told him as much after he won the Quarter Quell, of course they did. He had been young and handsome and they had all wanted a piece of him – metaphorically or not. He had learned not to listen to what they said. He had learned not to trust what came out of their mouth. He had never done anything warranting to be called amazing in his whole life, _that_ was the truth. Nobody in District 12 would ever even think of pinning him with that adjective.

“I don’t believe you.” She rebutted, rolling her eyes.

“Okay. I don’t think anyone ever called me that before and genuinely meant it.”

Her lips stretched in his favorite smile. She had a lot of those : strained, polite, annoyed but trying hard not to show it… The one she was sporting now was usually saved for him and him only. It was a smile that screamed ‘you’re insufferable but I like you anyway’. “I always mean it.”

“I know.” And he truly did. More often than not, he was grateful for Effie Trinket. He didn’t think he could ever work with another escort like he did with her. For all her quirks, she had a golden heart and she was willing to do her very best for their tributes. Not all escorts were like that. “The other night… You asked me a question.”

She did blush then. “I can remember asking you _more_ than one question.”

He couldn’t help his smirk, he really couldn’t. The memory of her pressed against him had haunted him for the last few days.  “Yes, well… You asked me if I liked you.”

“Oh, that…” She hugged her knees a little tighter. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“You _did_ say you like me because I am rude and uneducated, I think I have a right to answer that.” he joked.

“I said I like you _despite_ your rudeness and your lack of manners and you called me a… What was it? An uptight something and… annoying?” She frowned, probably trying to access the memory blurred by alcohol.

“You said you _really_ like me.” He corrected her, stretching his arm on the back of the couch so that his hand would rest directly behind her shoulder. “You said I put _all sorts_ of improper thoughts into you head which, I must tell you, piqued my curiosity…”

She pursed her lips but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes. “See? Bad, _bad_ manners. You are _not_ a gentleman.”

“I’m beginning to think that’s what you love about me, sweetheart.” His smiled was deliberately impertinent this time but hers could only be defined as cheeky.

“Perhaps.” she admitted.

His hand tugged a little at her wig on its own will. She didn’t protest so he tugged some more, careful not to hurt her, until strawberry blond hair fell on her shoulder. He wasn’t surprised by her hair color. He had often mused about it all those years but dark blond was what suited her best, he had always thought so.

“I like you, Effie.” he confessed, coiling a strand of her hair around his finger. “You shouldn’t doubt that. Ever.”

She slowly grabbed his wrist to make him release his grip on her hair, he glanced up, not actually knowing what to expect. Capitol citizens, he knew, were weird about that sort of things. Some expected marriage before even brushing the idea of sex, others were as debauched as Chaff with a bottle of wine, and some were a total mystery. It depended on a lot of things: if you were a man or a woman, if you were highborn or not, if you were young or old, if you wore blue or green… What did he know? She didn’t look like a naive person but _what did he know_ ? He didn’t particularly want to offend her or pressure her or… Things were far simpler in District 12, you liked a girl, you married her while you were both young and you spent the rest of your life together if you were lucky.

She took the wig from his hand and discarded it carelessly on the coffee table which made Haymitch’s eyebrows shoot up. He didn’t have time to comment on that, however, she leaned in and brushed her lips against his. He didn’t expect her lipstick to taste like blueberries but he _loved_ blueberries and he loved the feeling of Effie snuggled against him, so he deepened the kiss .

That kiss led to another which led to another and he _did_ carry her to bed, after all, because, as she so smugly pointed out at some point – he was fuzzy on the chronology but he thought it was before he lost his shirt but after she bit his throat – she was sober now.

   


End file.
